Review: Revisiting The Chrysalids by John Wyndham

 

"Watch thou for the Mutant; Keep pure the stock of the Lord."

I first reviewed The Chrysalids in 2011 and declared it one of my favourite books of all time and honestly, nothing has changed. I’ve now read it multiple times, and each time I pick it up I’m gripped all over again. It’s one of those rare books that never loses its power for me. Every time I read it I find myself holding my breath in the same places, turning the pages fast and completely absorbed. 

Written in 1955, The Chrysalids is a post-apocalyptic novel set in a future that feels alarmingly possible. Society has collapsed (we assume due to nuclear disaster), and the survivors have retreated into a fundamentalist worldview where 'purity' is everything. It’s a rigid, brutal world in which any deviation from the norm (whether animal, plant, or person) caused by the nuclear disaster is hunted out and destroyed.

The protagonist and narrator, David, is a quiet boy growing up in this strict religious farming community. But he’s also harbouring a dangerous secret: he has telepathic powers. There are others like him who can communicate silently across great distances and who realise that they must band together for survival and hide what they are. But of course, that only lasts so long. The tension builds as David and the others are forced to run, ultimately placing all their hopes in a mysterious, advanced society from a far-away land called Sealand (which is very obviously meant to be New Zealand, I love that).

Reading it again, what continues to impress me is just how modern this book still feels. Wyndham might be writing from the 1950s, but his insights into bigotry, conformity, fear and power could be written today. The Chrysalids is a novel about intolerance, and I don't just mean the overt kind. Importantly, it's about subtle, systemic, internalised intolerance. It asks huge questions in a deceptively simple way: What is 'normal' and who gets to decide? What happens when you fall outside of that?

What stood out more on this re-read is just how unsettling some of the ethical questions are. Wyndham doesn’t make it easy for us to pick sides. The religious fundamentalists are clearly oppressive, but the Sealanders, with all their superiority and cool detachment, are not necessarily the comforting saviours they appear to be. There’s a moment near the end when one of the Sealand women explains, without emotion, why those who can't communicate telepathically will inevitably be left behind. And you realise that every society, no matter how advanced it considers itself to be, has its own intolerances and dogma.

That’s what I love about this book. It’s not just thrilling and absorbing, it also leaves you thinking long after you’ve put it down. I keep returning to the idea that prejudice never looks the same twice. It mutates, just like the people and animals in the story.

This time around, I couldn’t help but see the parallels with today’s politics, particularly in the US where groups like Trump supporters rail against things like "liberal cancel culture” and preach about free speech and traditional values, while simultaneously banning books, suppressing education, and attacking anyone who doesn’t conform to their version of what’s 'normal'. It’s the same pattern Wyndham explores - a fear of difference and change disguised as moral certainty.

And we’ve seen shades of it here in Australia too. I reflect on the national debate around the Voice referendum and the way some political leaders painted the proposal as divisive while encouraging fear, misinformation and a rigid definition of unity that excluded actual inclusion. It’s not hard to draw a line from that kind of rhetoric back to Waknuk. In both cases, it’s about controlling the narrative of what belongs, and what doesn’t.

Wyndham reminds us that intolerance often wears the mask of righteousness. Whether it’s religious purity in Waknuk and the US or political dogma and national identity debates in Australia and the US, the urge to define and destroy the 'other' is disturbingly persistent.

I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. The Chrysalids is easily my favourite Wyndham. It's one of my all-time favourite books full stop. And somehow, it keeps getting better and more relevant every time I read it.